The Isis Collar

by Cat Adams

  Rizzoli seemed a little stunned by what had just happened and let out a slow breath. “I will if you will.”

  I nodded. “While we’re pretending, can I just be an ordinary human again?”

  He chuckled and started walking toward the door and the promise of light and fresh air, both of which sounded really good to me at this point. “Sorry, Graves. My imagination’s not that good. I’m pretty sure you were never ordinary.”

  I gave a snort of laughter and followed him through a maze of corridors that led to the outer doors. We got as far as the front sidewalk when his phone rang. The prisoner had started to talk again and they needed him upstairs.

  I followed, even though I was fully expecting he was going to tell me to find a cab and go home. But he didn’t.

  Apparently, the call had told him where to go, because he turned left when I turned right and I had to stop short to turn back. The new room was even smaller … just big enough for the two of us and the Asian agent who was now sitting at a recording studio control board.

  “What do we have so far, Yao?” Okay, then. He was Chinese. I admit I’m not good at recognizing the facial differences in that area of the world. I need to work on that.

  Yao didn’t turn his head to look at Rizzoli. He kept watching the scene unfolding behind the two-way mirror while he spoke. “The sketch artist is still with him.”

  I looked through the window and it seemed like nothing was happening. The man in black was just staring at the petite white-haired woman. But both of her hands were moving fast across a pad on the table. I realized she was holding a pen in one hand and a pencil in the other. As I watched, an image began to appear on the page.

  I must have looked confused, because Rizzoli leaned closer. “She’s a telepath. We don’t want to risk any more chances of blowing the guy up. All he has to do is think about his boss and Kristi will draw.”

  My smile was automatic. “But she’s not just drawing, is she?” Unless the guy was unusually adept at shielding, I was betting the FBI telepath was gathering as much information about the man, his boss, and the plan as possible.

  Rizzoli’s grin was answer enough. “We’ll know for sure soon.”

  Kristi’s hands stopped moving and I expected that she was just going to stand up and walk out. I’d seen it before with telepaths. They’re not as social as you’d imagine. They often think they’re social, but none of it is verbal and they confuse the two inputs. But the Feds must train them better, because she tipped her head and stared at him with sympathy. “Do you want to tell me about it? You think she’s playing with fire, don’t you, Gavrail?”

  My brow furrowed and it matched the other two men in the room. But the man in the room with Kristi simply sighed and shook his head. “She is … how you say in this country? Foolish prideful—she believes she is more than she is.”

  “Egotistical?”

  That made Gavrail put his hands on the table and tap fingers against the metal surface. “Yes. And no. She has power, but it is false power. And she makes poor choices of the use of the magic. Hurting children is bad, against the Maker’s will. They are innocents, but she considers them less than fleas. It is not womanly, not right.”

  Part of that perked Kristi’s interest just like it did mine. “Why is it false power?”

  Now Gavrail was less confident. “I don’t know. It … feels false. I don’t know, but I fear her. She does not have the caution born of training.”

  Interesting. I poked Rizzoli in the arm. “Does she have an earpiece in? Could she ask him what makes him think she doesn’t have training? I’m wondering if it’s the same caster I encountered.”

  Yao looked up and back. Rizzoli nodded. Yao asked and even though Kristi gave no indication, I could tell she heard. She tapped the picture significantly and asked a leading question. “Did you see her do something … foolish prideful that a witch shouldn’t do? Something that made you not want to work for her?”

  The disgust on his face was immediate. “She forced an old man to put petrol in her car. Mocked him while she moved his arms this way and that. He was stooped and crippled, yet she smiled as he cried out. I have known sorcerers who are cruel, but they are not vicious without cause, for they know magic returns evil greater than it was sent. They do not risk foolish pride. She—” He spat on the floor. “That one knows no better.”

  “I agree she is foolish about this spell. Can you tell me why you fear it so? What will it do to the children? Is it without a cure?”

  Gavrail was so incensed about the old man that he started to speak. “It is a disease that—”

  He stopped speaking suddenly and his eyes widened until they were bulging. Hands went to his throat as though trying to remove a rope that had tightened. I felt familiar magic slice through the very walls and Kristi was forced to put her hands to her temples with a sharp cry. For a long moment, nothing happened. But then Kristi stood up and walked toward Gavrail. Her hands raised and her nails turned inward. Gavrail didn’t try to stop her. He just stared at her, fear plain on his face.

  But what I couldn’t understand was why Rizzoli and Yao were just sitting there. Were they waiting for something actionable? Personally, I like to prevent events, not wait for a crime to happen. That’s what bodyguards do.

  I bolted from the room because I fully understood what Kristi was going through. At least it eased some guilt in me. After all, if a trained telepath was open to this woman, false magic or not, I’d done pretty good to get out alive. I was about to kick down the door to the interview room when Rizzoli grabbed my arm and pulled me off-balance. I jerked away and pushed him backward against the wall. He hit with a loud thump and a picture rattled on its hook a dozen feet away. “Don’t try to stop me, Rizzoli. She’s going to kill him if we don’t stop her. You don’t know how powerful this witch is.”

  Rizzoli went very still and spoke softly enough that I had to stop moving just to hear him. “But we want to know. We won’t let Gavrail die, but we have to know if Kristi can fight off the influence. This is our spell containment room. We have magical sensors all over, tracking the magic back to the source. We can shut down the room if we have to—shield it to where even a level nine couldn’t get through. We won’t let it go too far. Just walk away, Graves. Don’t screw this up. I don’t want to have to arrest you or, worse, shoot you.”

  I didn’t like it. Not at all. I didn’t doubt Rizzoli had a plan, or at least someone above him did. But I didn’t want to be party to someone dying, even if he wasn’t precisely innocent and I was only a party by being in the building. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the door. Technically, I didn’t work for the Feds, which meant they could very well arrest me.

  Or shoot me.

  Damn it.

  “If this goes badly, we’re done. Understand?” I turned and glared daggers at Rizzoli. “Done. I will hate you forever.”

  His face went very still. “If this goes badly, I probably won’t be around to hate.”

  I didn’t want to think Rizzoli would go over the line. He’s a good man. I really believe that. And I was exhausted. Diving under the table hadn’t done either my head or my leg a bit of good. So despite my misgivings, I went.

  9

  It’s really sad when you’re completely exhausted and it isn’t even eleven o’clock in the morning. I wanted nothing more than to curl up in a little ball and go to sleep. No, scratch that, not sleep. Not when I was liable to end up God knew where with no memory of how I got there. So instead of going home, I had the cabbie drop me off at the office. I needed to make a few calls, do some research into the entity, maybe arrange another exorcism. You know, the usual.

  My office is on the third floor of the only big old Victorian mansion downtown. It’s a registered historic landmark, perfectly tended, and is worth a not-so-small fortune. I own it, a fact that simultaneously thrills and scares the crap out of me every time I see the place. I try not to worry about things like property taxes and maintenance fees. But
of course I do. Vicki’s mother, mega–movie star Cassandra Meadows, may have decided to drop her suit contesting Vicki’s will, but I really did want to give all of the cash portion of my inheritance to the special school being set up in my sister’s name. My accountant, on the other hand, wants me to keep at least 10 percent for expenses and emergencies. I was still waffling on that.

  I paid the cabbie, my mind going over who I should call first. Once upon a time it would have been an easy decision. When in doubt, call Warren Landingham. Warren, “El Jefe,” is the head of Paranormal Studies at the university where I got my degree. He’d been a father figure to me, and a close friend. But both he and his son had betrayed me. Granted it was to save Warren’s daughter, Emma. And yes, Emma is second only to Dawna as my best friend, but it was still a betrayal. And try as I might I couldn’t just forgive and forget. I don’t trust easily, but I’d trusted them both. Which made the pain that much worse.

  I could call Dr. Sloan. Aaron Sloan is a grizzled old guy with wiry white hair and brows that bristle over the top of his Coke-bottle glasses. He’s as brilliant in his own way as El Jefe. But while Warren is more of a generalist, and plays university politics, Aaron focuses almost exclusively on curses and the demonic. If he doesn’t know the answer, he knows who does, or can find out.

  He’d given me a textbook the last time I’d been to his office—Man’s Experience of the Divine—and I never had taken the time to read it. Now might be the time to start. It would be embarrassing to call him and find out I had had the answer sitting on the shelf in my office.

  “Morning, Celia. Are you okay?” Dawna’s face had a thoughtful and worried expression. I noticed she didn’t say I looked bad again. Smart girl. It’s just one of the reasons I like her so well.

  “Rizzoli dragged me to the FBI offices to help interrogate a witness. I’m feeling a little twitchy. What do we have for food here?” “Twitchy” was our private code for the vamp trying to get the best of me. At first after the attack I’d had to eat every four hours. Which was a real nuisance—particularly since I couldn’t eat any solids at all. Thankfully, things have settled down a bit. If I make sure to take my liquid vitamins, and have lots of protein via au jus or broth I can eat three times a day. Unless I’m stressed. Today was shaping up to be very stressful.

  She pursed perfect mauve-tinted lips. “Hmm … bad morning interrogations probably call for a big cup of meat broth and some chocolate Ensure. Or … ooh! Wait. I have some phð. We could strain it to keep the noodles and other stuff out. We could use the blender, but that’s almost sacrilege.”

  My smile was automatic. No, it wasn’t a traditional breakfast, but Grandma Long’s phð, a Vietnamese noodle soup, was legendary.

  “Thanks! Are you sure? I don’t want to steal your lunch.”

  The phone started to beep and she reached for the handset. “You won’t. You drink the broth. I’ll eat the meat and noodles. It’s all good.”

  It made perfect sense and I got to the small office kitchen in record time. We have a full-sized refrigerator because everyone in the building works really weird hours and needs to have food available around the clock. The moment I opened the door, the scent of the phð erupted into my nose from beneath the plastic cover on the bowl. My fingers were tapping on the counter as the microwave heated the soup, until it occurred to me that I needed to find a secondary container and some way to strain the noodles. Three plastic forks and a tumbler later and I was ready.

  I was trying to manage the forks, hot bowl, and tumbler when the bowl started to slip. Dawna was there just in time to grab the pot holder and steady the bowl before the whole mess wound up down the drain. “Got it. Go ahead.”

  The third hand was just what I needed and I managed to get most of the broth from the bowl into the glass. It was worth the fuss. The beef broth and spices wowed my bland-stricken tongue. I could only hope it wouldn’t be too much for my stomach. But it would still be worth it. I nodded to my friend as she speared a forkful of noodles and twirled. “Amazing, as always. My compliments to your grandma. Did I ever thank her for the batch she made me after the attack?”

  “Yep. Although I have to admit, she was horrified that you ran it through the blender. That’s why I mentioned sacrilege.”

  “It was the only way I could get it down.”

  “I know.” She ate another bite of noodles. Apparently she’d decided to join me for brunch. Since the phones were quiet, and Dottie was due in soon, I didn’t see any reason for her not to.

  “Speaking of your granny, how goes the building situation? Has she moved in yet?”

  When Vicki died, she gifted some real estate to me, Dawna, and our friend Emma. I got my house, which was actually the beach house of the estate where Vicki used to live, plus the office building. Dawna got the apartment building she lived in and was now struggling with an extended family who all expected to live there for free. She shook her head wearily. “I turned over the whole mess to my brother. I mean, I don’t really care whether people live there, but I have to at least pay the taxes and insurance on the place. I told Tal if he would manage the place and figure out reasonable rents for everyone, then he could live there for free.”

  I took the last sip of broth that was free of stray noodles. “Isn’t he the one who worked for that big building management company in L.A.?”

  She nodded. “That’s why I picked him. He knows people who do janitorial and repairs and such. It’s too big a job for just one person, but he delegates really well.” One last noodle got sucked through her lips and then she rinsed out the bowl in the sink. “So anyway. Enough about me. Why’s your life sucking today? What sort of interrogation could you be able to do?”

  So it hadn’t gotten past her. She was just giving me time to think and eat. “It’s a mess, and I’m not sure I’m even allowed to talk about it.”

  “Bummer.”

  Ever one to change the subject, I looked out the doorway toward the front of the building. “I’m surprised the phones aren’t ringing.”

  She shrugged. “I put the lines on hold when I eat or when I need a bathroom break. But sure, we can go back that way. Are you just here to pick up messages or are you going to actually, you know, work?” Her voice was teasing, but there was an edge of concern underneath. After a truly hellish couple of months, I’d taken a short holiday. But the mess at the school had turned it into a long holiday. Which I couldn’t help, but really couldn’t afford, either.

  “Actually, I was going to do a little bit of research. Unless you might have some free time.” I looked at her hopefully. “I’ve got a textbook on divine entities. I ran into something today that was non-corporeal, but intelligent.” I paused and made sure I had her attention. “Vicki intelligent. Or maybe more.”

  “That’s…” She let out a breath and didn’t finish her sentence until she was back at her desk, the phones were off hold, and the book’s cover was open. “Not good. Not good at all. I loved Vicki like a sister, but she was a major aberration in the spirit world. So you’re thinking a demonic shade? There are still a few left out there. Hopefully just lesser demons, but still—”

  I leaned on the corner of her desk, both for emphasis and to keep my balance. Damned leg. I shook my head in frustration. “Didn’t feel very lesser. But he said he was most definitely not demonic.”

  She put a finger on the page to mark her place and looked up with wide eyes. “He … said? It could speak? Like out loud?”

  My nod was emphatic. “And not just in my head. Three other people heard him. He wouldn’t say his name, but he knew my name and responded verbally to comments I made in my head. The only manifestation was a swirly ball of energy, but I got the feeling he could probably do more if he’d wanted to. I’d planned to do it myself, but the more I think about it, the more afraid I am to open the book. What if there’s something written there that … well, attaches to me?”

  “Eww, that’s ugly powerful. Okay, I’ll start reading. What are you going to do?”<
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  A small snort escaped me before I could stop it. “What do you think? Get some more protection charms. I think I need the industrial-strength variety. And I’m all out of boomers.”

  That perked Dawna up. “Are you going to Levy’s? Could I go with?”

  “To Levy’s? Why would you want to go there?” I went there all the time because it was the best weapons shop in three counties. But Dawna? She didn’t own much in the way of weapons.

  “Isaac was tailoring something for me and called to say it’s ready. So can I go?” She didn’t expand on that, which was interesting.

  Yeah, I’d love to have her along because we always have a great time together and we haven’t been spending as much time around each other as we used to. It would also save me cab fare. “I was thinking about going right now. It’s not officially your lunch hour. Ron will have a fit.”

  Dawna gave me a grin of pure delight. “Not a problem. Watch this.” She picked up the handset and pressed two digits before turning on the speaker. “Ron?”

  “Yes?” He sounded impatient and brusque—so pretty much normal.

  “I need to go to lunch early and I’ll probably be back late. I need to get some shopping done.” Oh, man! That was just asking for a screaming match. Ron hated shopping. He felt it was a complete waste of time and had once harangued Dawna for being ten minutes late when she’d gone to pick up office supplies.

  There was a long pause and I hovered over her desk, waiting to have to jump in and defend her. My jaw dropped when he responded: “That’s fine. Just put a note on the door. I’ll catch the phone until you get back.”

  Dawna looked far too self-satisfied when she answered. “Thanks, Ron. Be back soon.” Oh, there was definitely a story there and I would know it before the end of the trip.

  She made a quick stop in the bathroom to freshen up while I slathered sunscreen on every open piece of skin; then we hurried out to the lot and her trusty Honda. I managed to wait until we were safely inside the car where nobody could hear me scream; I did. “Ahhh! What did you do with the real Ron? I don’t want him suing me because you put some kind of spell on him.”